


Unravel

by orphan_account



Category: True Detective
Genre: M/M, domestic abuse, past abusive relationship, triggering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 05:03:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12787572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Don't get too excited this is a repost.Takes place after the events of the first season.





	Unravel

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [[translation] 解脱 Unravel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12823200) by [hieroglyphics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hieroglyphics/pseuds/hieroglyphics)



> I took this down to tag it properly. Anyway, it belongs to the Archive now.

 

 

  
  
"How you been?" Rust clears his throat, possibly self conscious. "You know, besides work? What do you do?" Rust's voice is low - gravelled and rumbling notes exploding into thought. It tugs at something in Marty and he thought he wouldn't have to worry about that since he'd remarked Time has it's way with us all. Since Rust had shown up looking like ten miles of bad road.  
  
And the thing is, at the time, it pleases him. He's pleased that Rust is asking, has spared a thought for Marty's personal life.  
  
"I'm sorry -" Marty starts, smiles despite himself, "I just - I don't ever remember you asking me a personal question before."   
  
When eventually it gets around to Rust asking, "You seeing anybody?" Marty feels butterflies in his stomach. Thinks for a moment that Rust is - but no, the man's not even looking at him.  
  
"Not really. Some dates. You know, it's all pretty casual." he answers.  
  
And he'd made it a point to say that he's keeping himself busy with girlfriends, wonders - not for the first time - if Rust can see it on him. The man's always been perceptive. Probably knew even before Marty himself.  
  
Still, Marty's not going to say that he'd had a boyfriend.  
  
It hadn't worked out.  
  
It's not like it's relevant.  
  
"You always liked 'em crazy."   
  
Ain't that the truth.  
  
   
  
   
  
Marty doesn't like to think about that time. But the thing is once truth is out of the box - there ain't no putting it back.  
  
   
  
   
  
He takes Rust home. The fragility of the man before him almost startles him.  
  
Rust had always been something irrefutable, alive and just plain solid. There had been a time when Marty felt the man had existed solely to show how much better he was than him. It'd been some time before Marty realized Rust existed to show how much better he was than them all. To realize his own insignificance, the dulling of his accomplishments next to Rust's gold star.  
  
It figures, that in the end, they end up in the same place.  
  
Puttering around in Marty's living room like two old grumps.  
  
It's comfortable.   
  
   
  
   
  
Or at least, it's comfortable until Rust screws everything up. He gathers all the pieces of himself together, cleans up his act, cuts his hair and suddenly no longer looks like he's one foot in the grave. That isn't what screws everything up though.  
  
What screws everything up is the measured way he begins to look at Marty.  
  
Marty's changed, or at least he likes to think so. He's never had the knack for self-realization that Rust has. Has never consciously deliberated his moves before he makes them. He'd never been introspective back then because he'd already known that he wouldn't like what he would see.  
  
Now, he knows what he sees and he knows he doesn't like it.  
  
The problem is Rust is beginning to look at him and he'll see it too.  
  
It eats away at Marty until he's all edges.  
  
He gets short with Rust, a little biting - is reminded of the time in the locker room and knows if Rust wanted he could best him - with words or actions. Rust doesn't. He pulls back, lets Marty do what he wants. Watches. And somehow that's worse.  
  
   
  
   
  
Marty's afraid he's going to make Rust leave with his little shit fits and short temper. So he tries to be sweet on the in betweens.   
  
   
  
   
  
Marty's old boyfriend is a son-of-a-bitch. Marty doesn't say his name anymore.   
  
He thinks it's karma operating at its finest.  
  
It's still not relevant.  
  
   
  
   
  
It becomes relevant.   
  
The moment Rust presses into his space and lays his mouth on him it becomes relevant.  
  
Marty is backing out of the shared space immediately.  
  
"Uh..look. I may not have been forthright with you.This isn't - this isn't my first rodeo so to speak. I -"  
  
"Good. That'll make it easier." Rust murmurs.  
  
"Look-" Marty begins again from the top.  
  
"I know you want this Marty." Rust says, without doubt in his voice, low and seductive. He's probably always known. But Marty is trying to tell him something important.  
  
He walks Marty backwards, tucks his hands against Marty's sides.  
  
A half-drawn moan escapes from Marty's mouth and his eyes slide shut.  
  
When Rust presses into him this time Marty presses back.  
  
   
  
   
  
It's just a few kisses against the kitchen sink. It's nothing Marty should be blushing about. It's not something he can help.  
  
The energy around them has shifted and Rust's eyes seem dark and predatory these days.  
  
He's holding back - Marty knows this better than anyone - but in the end Rust is the wolf waiting on the edge of the clearing for the rabbit to change directions.  
  
Anticipation gnaws at him, something else does too.  
  
   
  
   
  
They continue to do the things they've been doing. Making dinners and watching bad tv. Looking over cases and driving to and from the liquor store for cold beers on Saturday nights.  
  
Only now when Rust says, 'you good Marty?' he says 'you good Marty?' and runs a hand down from Marty's shoulder to the small of his back.  
  
   
  
   
  
Marty should tell him, if they plan to go further. It's only polite.   
  
Only something in Marty urges him to keep that shit locked down, cross that bridge when he comes to it.  
  
Marcus hadn't exactly been a winner.  
  
   
  
   
  
Rust brings it up one day. Marty's been on edge since breakfast and it's due to Rust's unwavering scrutiny. As partners, Marty had wondered what it would feel like to captivate that tireless gaze but now that he knows - he finds he doesn't like it so much. Doesn't want to be special - interesting - after all. He feels like Rust is dissecting him, and he isn't sure he'll stick around to put him back together.  
  
"Oh that." Marty says, unconsciously downplays it, "it was a few years ago now I reckon."   
  
He knows the exact dates.  
  
"What was his name?" Rust asks him, in that lazy and unhurried way of his.  
  
"Marcus."   
  
"Did Maggie know?"  
  
"Fuck'sake what is this twenty questions?" Marty sets his jaw unhappily, puffs out his chest, "Yeah, Maggie knew."  
  
It had kind of been impossible to avoid.   
  
"It didn't work out." Rust prompts, deadpan.  
  
Marty only throws up his hands, "Yeah, it didn't work out."  
  
He doesn't want to say more than that.  
  
"How'd it end?" Rust persists.  
  
"He's dead." Marty says blankly, scrubs a hand across his mouth, "Auto accident."  
  
"Marty." Rust says and the word is more than just his name. It is I'm sorry and Let me make it better all at once.  
  
Marty shrugs.  
  
   
  
   
  
It isn't completely unexpected. They have a good dinner and a couple of drinks, they talk old cases and Rust's fishing adventures. Then they make out on the couch.  
  
Rust tips him slowly down, slow like syrup. Raises Marty's arms gently above his head and keeps them there with a hand around the wrists.   
  
"Marty-" Rust is levelling a gaze at him, asking.  
  
Marty doesn't mean to, but he falters.  
  
Rust sees and slows things down to a crawl.  
  
"You make me feel good Marty" he hums, "With your voice and your dinners and your forgiveness for the human condition."  
  
The words are sweet, Marty's eyes flutter shut.  
  
"Let me make you feel good too."  
  
"Rust-" he begins reluctantly, works to frame the words he's going to say in a way that's acceptable, "I've only done this...the once. I'm not sure I'm cut out for...I didn't like it."  
  
Rust leans back, considers.  
  
"We'll go slow. You tell me when it's too much."  
  
As it turns out, it isn't too much.  
  
Once Rust properly lays hands on him it suddenly seems like it isn't enough, like he needs more.  
  
Until Rust's inside him - thrusting gently as Marty moans continuously, unable to help himself.    
  
   
  
   
  
It's only after when Marty feels guilty, feels like he should tell Rust after all.  
  
They're curled up, naked under the sheets. Marty snuggles in close and lays his head on Rust's chest.  
  
He finds he still can't do it.  
  
   
  
   
  
They get into an argument about something fucking stupid. It escalates until the precipitating factor has faded from memory.  
  
Marty gets into Rust's space - because it's what he does when he's angry - and says something vicious, spittle flying from his mouth.  
  
Rust leans back and pops him one square on the lips.   
  
Marty's immediately running his tongue across his teeth to check for damage - there's a tooth that's looser than the others but it'll heal.  
  
His lips have been shredded though, on the sharp edges of his teeth and blood pours from his mouth.  
  
"Gee, thanks for that." He says, even as Rust remains frozen to his spot on the floor.  
  
He can't deny it's knocked the fight out of him though, a hold over left from his time with Marcus no doubt. When he retreats he staggers a little. Rust's hands come out immediately to steady him. Marty bats them away.  
  
"I'm not a China doll. Let me go get cleaned up. We still gotta make it down to the hardware store by four."  
  
It's not like Marty's going to cry about it. And in the grand scheme of every one of their interactions it isn't even the most violent.  
  
Rust lingers back from him for days afterward.  
  
Gets that strange look in his eyes that Marty hates.  
  
   
  
   
  
Rust says sorry by taking Marty apart piece by piece on the bed until Marty's thighs are trembling.  
  
"Rust" Marty cries out and surges up, tries to take him deeper.  
  
Rust brings his hands to lie on Marty's stomach and pushes him down.  
  
It doesn't feel good.   
  
Rust starts to get a little rough.  
  
He yanks Marty's hips up, slams into him and grinds himself deeper.  
  
Marty finds himself struggling to breath.  
  
"R-Rust-" He stutters out breathlessly, voice tense. Puts a hand instinctively out to ward Rust off.  
  
Rust stops immediately, pulls out carefully. He hasn't come but he walks out of the room, grim-faced, and Marty can hear the shower in the next minute.  
  
It occurs to Marty that Rust wasn't saying sorry. He was watching him all the while with that wolf gaze. Testing how much Marty can take.  
  
It's woefully little and Marty can't help but feel inadequate.  
  
   
  
   
  
When Rust stops him in the kitchen and slowly, viciously grinds him into the counter - Marty tries. He does his best. He doesn't even make any sounds. Rust's eyes don't leave his face.   
  
Rust pulls back to turn him then and bends him over onto the cool surface.  
  
He pulls one of Marty's arms up, constant exponentially increasing pressure.  
  
There's something like a low whine that leaves Marty's throat.  
  
It fucking hurts.  
  
But he wants to please him, he thinks. Or really - he's not sure.   
  
Only the behaviour's ingrained now.  
  
Rust wrenches him back up, sees the tears, and shakes him once - then twice.  
  
Rust is spittingly angry. His tongue clicks in disgust when he releases him.  
  
"I'm fucking calling Maggie." He says and Marty recognizes it as a threat.   
  
It doesn't make a whole lot of sense.   
  
   
  
   
  
Until, of course, it makes sense.  
  
"Marcus." Rust spits into the receiver as Marty sits dazed on the couch, hands wringing.   
  
"Rust - " He says lightly, a hint of disbelief and something like amusement in his voice until Rust looks at him and whatever else he'd meant to say dies a cold death.  
  
   
  
   
  
So, Marcus.  
  
Marty had met him online. He was a few years younger - a big man with stubble and a warm laugh.   
  
Marty had thought finally.  
  
Only finally eventually turned out to be something that hurt. And he knew they'd call it abuse on a woman, but Marty was a man. Besides, when he'd switched sides it wasn't like he'd had a lot of options. He was a decent catch - as far as women were willing to overlook his shortcomings for the sheer presence of his personality. For men, Marty wasn't fooling anyone - he was an abysmal catch, at least for what he wanted. He was neither young, nor fresh, nor beautiful. Not something to be protected or cherished exactly.  
  
Marty had wanted to go slow. Marcus had called him a cock tease and had wrenched him over the back of the couch and used him. It was rough and it hurt and Marty didn't leave him.  
  
Marty would probably never have left him.  
  
Marcus stepped out on him every chance he got before his fatal bike accident. Touched him up whenever he was in a bad mood.  
  
Really it was par for the course.  
  
Marty thought of Maggie - and he'd never wanted to involve Maggie, but he had and she'd seen the bruises and the blood - and thought Karma.  
  
   
  
   
  
Marty can't hear what Maggie is saying on the phone but Rust stills, his posture taut like a bow, ready to snap.  
  
"He's definitely dead?" Rust asks, dangerously low, and their eyes connect. His gaze burns and so Marty drops it, sets his jaw because he knows as soon as Rust's off the phone they're going to have it out.  
  
Just maybe Rust is going to leave.  
  
Marty trembles at that a little. Fear beginning to make his anger resolute.  
  
Only when Rust gets off the phone and takes him in - and Marty is fucking angry that Rust can see it all laid out on him - they don't have it out.  
  
Instead Rust drops to his knees in front of him and reaches up to cradle Marty's face.  
  
"Don't." Marty warns shortly, and his vision blurs from the tears in his eyes.  
  
Rust runs a warm hand up his arm, pulls him into his grasp.  
  
"You're not leaving?" He asks, despite himself.  
  
"No, I ain't leaving." Rust says, solid and soft.  
  
"I deserved it anyway."  
  
"Marty." Rust exhales sharply, with real reproach in his voice.  
  
Marty lays his head on Rust's shoulder as Rust rubs smooth circles into his back.  
  
Rust begins kissing him - everywhere. His chest, shoulder, cheek, forehead and ear. He doesn't stop for the longest while.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
